our love wasn't some
basketball player and
cheerleader story,

it was written on pages
of an old book.

you were my Mr.Darcy,
and I was your Elizabeth
Bennet.

I liked our love,
it was old and meaningful.

but you wanted new,
so I flattened the pages
of the book, and cleaned
the cover.

but still,
you picked the girl
whose novel shined the
brightest in the stories.

you with the smile that no
longer makes me smile.

you with the voice that no
longer brightens my day.

you with the laugh that no
longer makes me laugh.

you with your good morning texts that no
longer make my morning the best.

you with your smell of your
moms drinking and your
dog that no longer
intoxicates me.

you who changed, and is
never coming back.

you have the
key to my heart,

you opened it
without any second
thought.

but you lied.

you told me i had
the key to yours.

so i believed you,
because why would
you lie?

i didn't realize
you lied,
until i tried
unlocking it.

then i saw how different
our keys were.

yours had perfect lines,

while mine was more
of an organic shape,
impossible to
fit into anyones.

she told you the truth
and you told her lies.

she told you i love you,
and so did you.

but she believed you,
because how could
someone make lies,
so beautiful?